


Last Smile

by Starstorme



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starstorme/pseuds/Starstorme
Summary: Ratchet had known that dying patients were part of being a medic, but this hit him especially hard. How he missed that bright, cheerful smile…





	Last Smile

Ratchet stood at the operating table, picking his way through tangled wires, reconnecting energon lines and cutting off severely burnt plating. All the while, he kept an optic on the glowing spark monitor, or rather, death clock, hanging above his head.

They had brought him in three hours ago, and he'd already attempted to die twice. The scouting mission had been a failure- no energon found. And then a bomb had detonated, uncontrolled, and the team had been caught in the explosion.

They had all been injured when they returned, but none as badly as _him._ The second they'd entered the medbay, Ratchet had bustled around preparing a medberth for his patient. Sure, the others were injured, some quite badly. Sure, Tailgate was missing half his leg and a hand. But they could wait. They weren't as critically endangered as the bot lying limp on Ratchet's medberth.

Ratchet had been working non-stop since they walked in. He knew the chances for his patient's survival was low- barely existent- but he had full faith in this mech’s ability to overcome almost anything. Ratchet had carried on, knowing that the scorched, burnt mech unconscious in front of him was fighting just as hard as he was.

They had told him to take a break. They had given up hope on him; they faced the reality that he was far too severely injured to recover. Ratchet had simply ignored them and continued working his way through his patient's half-melted body.

And so he still stood beside the medberth, even after hours of hard work, aiming for the faraway goal of saving his patient.

He couldn't lose Drift now.

* * *

"Rodimus!"

Ratchet jumped in surprise at the sudden scream. This wasn't good. He needed Drift to stay unconscious for his repairs. Of all the things the Third in Command could've done, he just had to choose to wake up?

Ratchet bent over his patient’s frame, knowing the life support would keep him stable for now.

"Drift, are you with me?"

"Rodimus! The bomb!" the swordsmech shrieked, thrashing about on the medberth.

"Drift!"

"Get out of the way, now!"

Ratchet scrambled to reattach the wires and tubes the younger mech had managed to dislocate in his panic.

"Drift, stop it!" he shouted, plugging in an energon line. He held Drift's helm down, grasping his hand.

"Calm down! You're with me, in the medbay."

Drift's optics focused as he finally stopped moving.

"R-Ratchet?"

“Ah, finally."

"What happened? How's- Rodimus- is he okay?"

Ratchet gave Drift's hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"Rodimus is fine. I know you're worried but he’s totally okay. You took a pretty bad blast out there, by the way."

He noticed Drift's optics slowly dimming throughout his short speech.

"Drift, how are you feeling?" he asked, trying to distract Drift, or himself, from the inevitable that was now so obvious to both medic and warrior. Ratchet didn't know who he was trying to fool.

"Hurts…"

"I know, Drift, I know. But I can't disable your pain sensors. I don't even know where your control panel is; it probably got destroyed in the explosion. Drift- are you still here?"

Drift groaned softly, his optics dimming further, and Ratchet held his hand to let him know he wasn't alone.

“Ratchet?" came the quiet murmur, and the medic knew that he was fighting to remain conscious.

"Yes, Drift?"

He took a shuddering intake, his hand trembling in Ratchet's.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"Yes."

Ratchet felt the syllable slip through his vocaliser without any thought. There was something strangely calm and tranquil about the moments that followed, despite the daunting prospect that Ratchet had just confirmed.

"I'm sorry, Drift," he added, ending the silence.

The swordmech sighed, struggling to remain focused.

"Okay. I've probably got a few minutes before game over, so hear me out. Tell the crew I've enjoyed working with them, and that I wish them luck."

Ratchet held onto his hand, tears springing forwards in his optics. He could scarcely believe that these were possibly- no, probably, almost certainly- his last moments with Drift, ever.

"And- Ratchet, keep my hands. You might need them in the future. Tell Rodimus that- that he can have my Great Sword. He's always wanted to try it, and he's going to need it."

Drift clung to Ratchet's hand like he would never let go.

"Rodimus- he's more important than even he realises. One day, everything will depend on him. That's why I saved him."

Ratchet was frozen in Drift's speech, listening, taking in everything- his words, the sound of his voice, the pressure of their hands clasped together.

"Burn my other swords with me. And one last thing before I go- Ratchet?"

"Drift?"

"I've always been terrified that you'd die before I did. But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Keep going without me, Ratchet. And to think…

"I will never see you again."

Drift's shaking hand tightened around Ratchet's.

"One more thing…”

There was tension in the air.

“One last thing- because I don't say it enough…”

Neither cried. One was still clinging on to hope, and the other was too far gone.

"I love you."

Ratchet watched as Drift's optics blanked out, and their hands finally slipped apart.

But the life support was still functioning.

There was still a chance.

And Ratchet would keep on fighting.

* * *

"Ratchet…"

"Drift?"

"Please…"

"Please what? Drift, what do you want me to do? Stay with me!"

"Please… let me go."

"You know I can't bear to do that."

"Please…"

* * *

"Please…"

"Drift… I'm sorry."

* * *

Ratchet's fingers flickered over the mostly reattached wires on Drift's body. It seemed okay. Drift might be okay. And then he noticed something that shocked his spark.

He didn't know how he had managed to overlook it earlier. How was it possible to not notice the core of an elemental bomb, jammed between one's inner chest plate and his spark chamber itself? The flashing red light of the core indicated that it was still active. Immersed in the energon surrounding a Cybertronian's spark chamber, often known as life energon, the bomb core was sure to remain live until it eventually detonated.

Even Drift couldn't survive this. It would blast him apart, and even if it didn't, he'd still offline from loss of energon. Ratchet couldn't leave it there and wait for him to die.

But if he tried to save Drift…

The bomb core was lodged in his life energon. If he attempted surgery to save Drift, he could end up killing him. He'd certainly survive longer if Ratchet left the bomb than if _that_ happened.

But he still couldn't just leave Drift to blow up.

Rodimus and the crew had given up. Drift was unconscious, and had lost hope himself. Ratchet hated to think of it that way, but Drift was at his disposal.

He had a choice to make.

* * *

He'd done it.

Ratchet slumped back into his chair, almost collapsing in exhaustion as his hours of work caught up with him. After a few minutes' rest, he disconnected the life support machine. It wasn't needed anymore.

He had succeeded…

In killing Drift.

* * *

Ratchet had known that dying patients were part of being a medic, but this hit him especially hard.

How he missed that bright, cheerful smile…

He left the medbay, unable to bring himself to turn around, to cast his gaze over the cold, lifeless frame again. He continued walking, almost in a trance, until he reached Swerve’s bar, where the rest of the crew would be waiting, lounging around.

All optics turned to the medic as he entered the room.

Somehow, Ratchet remained emotionless as he swept his gaze over the assembly.

"We've lost him," he finally announced. "Drift's gone."

Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to believe what he himself was saying.

"Dead."

Somehow, only now did he begin to feel the grief, the sorrow of losing a comrade and friend.

"One with the Allspark."

Ratchet turned and walked away.

* * *

Finally finding the courage to walk back into the operating room, Ratchet stared, almost frozen, at the greyed form of his latest patient.

"My precious little treasure…"

He touched his hand, enclosing it in his own.

"My lost light…"

His cold, motionless fingers felt as alive as ever.

"I’ll never let go of you."

Ratchet knew, however, that his patient was dead.

The once lively, optimistic mech lying limp on his table would never wake up, ever again.

And now he had to say goodbye. Forever.

Ratchet would miss him. He missed him already. The medic finally felt tears streaming down his face, and remembered those friendly optics, those sarcastic comments, and that bright, cheerful smile.

He stood by the medberth for hours, almost refusing the reality, until it hit him in a forceful wave. Ratchet found himself screaming like he never had before, sobbing over the death of his friend. His lover.

Finally, he let their hands slip apart, and he turned away, walking towards the operating room door. However, he paused in the doorway, and looked back, gazing over the cold, lifeless corpse.

He could've sworn he saw him smile.

His last smile.

Drift's bright, cheerful smile.


End file.
